“Lao negotiated a deal with the DOE years ago about their invasion of our privacy,” I volunteered. “He developed a fairly sophisticated method for sweeping the residence. I think your office is a safe zone.”
Laughing, a big warm sound in the day, Terrell opened the door. “Well, at least it has been safe since about forty-five minutes ago when we did a search,” he said. “Found a nice little DOE device and two Bureau snoops.” We stepped into the hall. “Do you think I’d talk about family matters in an unsecured place?”
I decided not to be sidetracked by the perpetual distraction of listening devices in our private residence. The DOE and Bureau showed equally irritating curiosity about Ashwood’s conversations, perhaps heightened by our direct employment of managers.
“It’s so great to have you back,” I said. Through the dining room I could see Sarah sitting in a rocking chair, knitting needles in hand, her eyes focused on a tree branch outside a nearby window.
David told me his mother gave up her promising career in agribusiness to marry Paul, the South Dakota rancher’s son she met at a football party in St. Paul. A classic blond Scandinavian woman, she aged into a beautiful grandmother with thick silver hair, gray-blue eyes, and a complexion marked only by deep laugh lines and the lightest crow’s-feet.
“How are you doing?” I stopped to ask her, dreading what I had to do next.
“Your friend Terrell is a great guy,” she said and rested the knitting in her lap. “He and I always had interesting talks years ago when I called to ask what you could use from our farm. Watching him with the workers is just wonderful. I don’t know if he’ll need much of my help.”
Her response didn’t answer my question, true to Sarah’s discomfort with talking about herself. “I guess I was doing all right until the kids headed into afternoon school.” She sighed. “It’s just a lot better for me to stay busy and not think about David. What about you?”
“I wish there was something I could do,” I answered. “If the DOE doesn’t have more to say in a few hours, I’m going to start calling everyone on my Washington, D.C., contact list.”
“Paul said the same thing. He already sent a few messages to folks we’ve supported over the years.” Sarah turned her head back toward the window and something I did not see outside. “I pray. I’m an old-fashioned Catholic who still puts the safety of those I love in God’s hands. I’ve been trying to find just the right words to capture what I want to ask.” I saw a small smile pass across her lips. “Not that the right words are necessary, because God already knows what is in my heart.” She turned back to me. “You do lead a lovely Sunday prayer service, Anne, but I’m not sure you really find much comfort in faith.”
From my grandmother’s rosary beads on my mother’s dresser to my years singing Lutheran chapel services at St. Olaf College, religion and faith were wedded. The big D challenged not my belief in God, but certainly my loyalty to established churches. I never fought leading the Bureau’s required nondenominational weekly prayer service, but I would not let the kids under my care be forced to attend church in the community without their parents’ permission.
“Maybe religion had been dumbed down by the time I was growing up.” I wanted to sit at her feet, lean my head against her knee, and be a daughter who might give and receive comfort. Moving closer, I knelt, then sat back on my feet. “Sarah, Milan called to give us advance notice of a breaking news story about the government implanting fertilized eggs from a small group of intellectuals into surrogates without the knowledge of the couples. David and Tia were part of that group.”
Sarah’s eyes widened and lines deepened on her forehead. “What are you saying, Anne? Does this mean that their children are being raised by strangers?” The knitting dropped from her hands and her lap.
Picking up her needles and yarn, I answered gently, thinking how I would feel. “Yes, that’s what Milan said. Six children.”
“Have you told Paul?” Sarah’s body remained still, no more rocking. Gentle grandma disappeared from her eyes. “This is unforgivable. I would say unbelievable, but too much has happened in this country in the past decade. Of course we want to know where these children are living and try to bring them here.” Sitting upright in the rocker, she held its armrests. “Imagine, six more grandchildren. What wealth for this family to have so many little people to carry on our name.”
Surprised by both her excitement and her intention to seek out the children, I shifted back to my knees and prepared to rise. “I intended to tell you together,” I said. “I thought you might be upset.”
“I can’t really get my mind around this,” she said. “Our son has been poorly used by our government merely because he is bright. Our other sons’ lives, and their children’s lives, are so much easier. If Paul and I must take legal action to bring these children home, then we will do so.” One hand came to her head. “You won’t mind a few more kids running around the house?”
“Sarah, we don’t know how old these children are or what kind of lives they have now. They may be perfectly happy.” She frowned as I spoke. “I’ve been worried about how our children might feel and how you would react.”
“Let’s find Paul. I think this might give him some hope.” She stood, took my arm. “God wouldn’t make us aware of these children if David wasn’t returning to be their father.”
We made our way to the business offices, me worried about Sarah’s sudden overt religious comments. A quiet person in our household of extroverts, she had a practical sense of running the household operations that made Ashwood a training site for estate matrons. Her business sense couldn’t be shaken. This response left me concerned that the day had affected her too deeply.
I asked Paul to step out of a discussion with field team leaders and the three of us made our way to my office. Sarah moved close to Paul as I shut the door.
“Paul, Anne had the most amazing call from Milan this afternoon.” I watched my mother-in-law’s strange behavior. She seemed eager to share Milan’s story, as if the existence of these six children restored joy to our world. “Some awful government people felt free to implant David and Tia’s embryos in surrogate mothers without David’s knowledge. Now there’s going to be a story in the news.” Paul’s face fell into the stoic image of this morning. Sarah noticed, and her voice became soothing. “Milan wanted us to know we have six more grandchildren out there somewhere.”
Paul looked my way, clearly not as pleased as Sarah. “Tell me what he said, Anne.”
Sliding to the floor, closing my eyes and pretending the world didn’t exist wasn’t an option. I quickly shared the gist of Milan’s comments and my concerns about how our children might take the news and how to protect them from media exposure.
“Damn it. Nothing, absolutely nothing is sacred to those people in Washington, D.C.” He stepped away from Sarah, deep red staining his cheeks and nose and forehead. “Why are you so fired up about this, Sarah?” He looked my way. “Any chance this is a government smoke screen to stir up a lot of interest and take the focus off South America?”
Neither of us attempted to answer Paul’s question. Sarah may have been caught off guard by her husband’s response.
“Sounds like a goddamn awful situation that this family shouldn’t have to be thrown into,” Paul said. “As if Phoebe and Noah and John don’t have enough to think about. Now we have to walk into a touchy discussion of human reproduction and how it is that their father doesn’t know where all his children live.”
“Hon, they live on a good-size farm. The process of making a baby is hardly a mystery.” Sarah touched Paul’s arm. “I think we have an opportunity to distract them from worrying about David by telling them that we will be looking for these children. That we want to bring their brothers and sisters together.”
Part of me wanted to ask Sarah how she would acquire transportation credits to visit each of these children, pay the legal fees that would certainly build as assigned parents fought losing their children, fe
ed six more hungry young people when Ashwood’s supplies could not support our current family and staff. Another part of me knew I had to conserve my energy for the fights that were mine—finding David, keeping our children safe, welcoming Andrew, and managing Ashwood. I had nothing else to give.
“Is that what you want, Anne?” Paul asked.
“No.” How I would have liked to end the conversation and walk away, but they both looked rather surprised at my quick response. “Here’s what I want—to tell as few facts as possible to my kids about the whole surrogate system. I’ll start with Andrew coming here to live with us, then talk about possible media coverage about other children living with other parents who could be their brothers and sisters.” I stopped, checked for their agreement and continued without it. “Then I need to go over security and protecting our privacy.” Paul began to nod. “They need to know only the facts that children can understand—what it means to us as a family, and what to do to keep ourselves safe from the media.”
My mother-in-law wanted to interrupt, but I continued. “I’m sorry, Sarah, but to go further and conjure up the possibility of more brothers and sisters living here would be taking this further than six- and seven-year-olds can absorb.”
Through my window I could see children walking to the greenhouses and wondered how the afternoon had passed with so little accomplished. Sarah also saw the workers, and the rhythm of so many days settled on her. “I should get over to the classrooms for homework drills,” she said and rose. “Paul, perhaps you and I should talk to Anne’s friend about what we can do as grandparents in David’s absence. And I respect Anne’s wishes.” She walked to the door. “I’ll see you all at dinner.”
As Sarah closed the door, I wondered if her behavior sprung from a different set of maternal instincts than mine.
“You might think your mother-in-law has gone off the deep end,” Paul said. “The whole surrogacy program disturbs her. I don’t think she’s ever said much to you, because she loves you so much.”
Paul grabbed the door. “Don’t know if I should dig back into work, go be with Sarah, or jump on a horse and ride out to the Mississippi River banks to think.” He bent to kiss the top of my head. “But you should go and be with your kids.”
Chapter Thriteen
Andrew is John’s big brother, but he’s no relation to you and me,” Phoebe told Noah after my careful words about Andrew Smithson joining our family. “He’s Mom’s son by a stranger. You and I and John have the same Dad.”
Many times I have sat down with children, and their Ashwood mentors, to share unpleasant news—a canceled home visit, an older sibling knifed at school, a runaway parent. I thought too much about how my three would react to the addition of Andrew, but couldn’t predict their feelings about the surrogate scandal.
The boys thought a big brother joining our family was great in spite of Phoebe’s mixed emotions. Her deciphering of bloodlines confused her brothers who were stuck on the fact that Andrew was joining our family because his known parents had passed away.
“So is he an orphan or not?” John asked. “That would be sad.”
“He can’t be an orphan. You have the same mother,” Phoebe said, one small hand gesturing near John’s face. “He’s your older brother, but not really a Regan.” I hugged my boy. “His father and the woman he thought was his mother have died, so he feels like an orphan. He had no reason to doubt that she was his mother, didn’t know that she wasn’t until a few days ago.”
“How did that happen?” The beginnings of logic skills showed in many of John’s questions. “How could you not know your mother?”
“It’s complicated. The officials made a mistake.” I waited for the small shrug that told me John had moved beyond the need for more information. “We’re his second chance at being part of a family.”
“Does he play soccer or baseball?” Noah asked a typical little-boy question, then followed it with a modern-day fear. “And if he lived in the city, will he carry a knife or be part of a bad gang?”
Phoebe frowned at the knife image. “You’re sure Dad wants this boy to live here?”
“Yes, Dad and Grandpa want him to live with us.” I ran my fingers over her curls, wondering why she had not shared her knowledge of Andrew with her brothers. “His aunt’s apartment isn’t in the gang areas of the cities and if he carries a knife, we’ll take it away. That’s an estate rule no one breaks.” Noah and John appeared to lose interest in talking about Andrew. “He’s a boy who needs family.”
“Do you love him?” asked Phoebe.
“I haven’t seen him since he was born, sweetie, but he is my son.” I gave her a quick squeeze, removed a curly hair from my hand. “He is my son and I’m excited about getting to know him.”
Her beautiful green eyes moved quickly across my face. Was she worried about Andrew taking some part of the love and attention now given to her and her brothers? I moved on to the second subject.
“So the three of you understand what a surrogate is? Phoebe nodded right away. John and Noah looked at each other. I recognized their discomfort and shrinking attention to this discussion. “A surrogate is a woman who carries a couple’s baby in her womb before it’s born. After the baby’s born, the parents take it home. Phoebe and Noah were carried by surrogates. Right?”
Three children stared at me.
“There was a mistake made by the government agency that watches over the surrogate program. Some babies were carried by surrogates and put into people’s homes who actually have different parents.” Noah looked at his hand. John’s forehead wrinkled. “Some of those children are the brothers and sisters of Noah and Phoebe.”
“Are they all coming to live here, too?” John sought clarification in a polite voice. “How many kids will have to share a bedroom and desk?”
“Do they look like us and will you love them like us?”
I told myself that Phoebe’s question could have been asked by any child before answering. “I don’t know what they look like or where they live. I only know that they are alive.” She nuzzled into my side with her head down so I couldn’t read her emotions. “It’s such a strange situation that I don’t know how to say anything more. But the news media have a story that will be broadcast soon, so I wanted you to know this before you hear it from someone else.”
Noah shrugged. “I don’t think I understand? I think it’s something big people should worry about.” He looked at John. “We don’t have space in our bedroom for more than Andrew.”
“When Dad comes home, he’ll know what to do,” Phoebe added, then she moved away and picked up a book. The conversation closed. To lighten the mood, I suggested playing a game. Phoebe lost interest after a few minutes, picked up her book, and left.
The boys turned our game into a two-person match. I thought I was watching their play, but my eyes closed. Paul’s gentle tapping on my shoulder woke me from my unexpected nap as the dinner music sounded. The boys were gone.
“Maybe you should let Sarah and me take Phoebe watch tonight? Don’t know if anyone here has ever seen you sleep while the sun was still shining.” He didn’t smile. We’d been through a horrific day and there could be more of the same. “How did the kids respond?”
“I think Phoebe needs to know I’ll still be here for her so I better pass on your offer. Thanks anyway.” My eyes felt gritty, my brain not ready to kick into normal operation. “I don’t know that the boys really understood the surrogate story. We’ll see how they process everything.”
“General Manager Hartford.”
“Excuse me, Paul.” I pointed to my earpiece. “I’ll join you in the dining room.” He walked away. I activated the call. “Yes?”
“This is Lars Peterson. Do you have a minute?”
“Is there information about David?”
“There is information about the ambush.”
I could hear faint noise behind his voice, tried to place where he was. “Yes?”
“We can meet with you in
the DOE offices in approximately twenty minutes.”
Images of military officers in full dress uniform ringing the home doorbells at dead armed forces members’ homes entered my thoughts and stuck. As a scientist and an intellectual, David carried officer classification in the civilian military division. The oxymoron of civilian military played in the popular media. In this society where government bundled everything in an elaborate interwoven hierarchy, I never gave a second thought to this minor title on David’s large human capital file. I pushed away the dead soldiers thoughts, sure that, like John, I would know if David was not in our world.
“I’d like my father-in-law to join us.” Like Sarah’s earlier this afternoon, my eyes were attracted to the window without the slightest ability to focus on anything. I stood. “He’s just sitting down for dinner, but we can be there in twenty minutes.”
Peterson hesitated. “I don’t think it is necessary to involve Mr. Regan.”
“If it is bad news, tell me now.” I managed to sound in control. “It’s cruel to make me wait twenty minutes not knowing what’s happening to David.”
“Bring someone, if you please.” I recognized the sound of a displeased bureaucrat. “And have your kitchen set up dinner for seven staff in the DOE building.” The call ended.
His command to provide food, a precious commodity, marked pulling rank. Peterson could make the same demand anywhere and be accommodated. Concerned about Peterson’s news, I walked to the kitchen.
Bowls and platters covered every surface as dinner service began. Workers moved about under Amber’s supervision.
“Ms. Anne, is everything okay?” Her tone hinted that I looked unusual.
“Thanks, Amber. I hear you’re doing a great job helping with the transition here. Where’s Cook?”
She pointed to the kitchen’s deep cooler. “Checking breakfast supplies.”
In the cooler I stood with my back to the door, called his name.
“Good God, Anne, you surprised me.” Terrell held blueberries in one hand. “What’s wrong?”
Harvesting Ashwood Minnesota 2037 Page 10
